Baby, It's Cold Outside. Cathy Yardley

      He wondered absently whether Emily was sleeping. She’d been naked and bundled up in her bedding when he’d said goodbye. She’d smiled, kissed him and turned over so she didn’t have to see him leave.

      It had been harder than he’d ever imagined to walk out that door.

      “Moving to Paris? Wow. The wife would love it, but me, I can’t see leaving the States,” the cabdriver continued relentlessly.

      Colin listened halfheartedly to the cabdriver’s cheerful patter. He watched as the town’s landmarks moved slowly past them, enveloped in fluffy flakes that almost turned the air white with their abundant barrage. The gazebo in the town square looked like an igloo, piled high with a dome of snow. The statue of the town’s founder waded waist deep in a drift, while the Otter Lodge sign was almost completely covered up, revealing only the “Otter.”

      The cab skidded abruptly, and Colin realized he’d been drifting off. “Whoa!”

      “Sorry about that,” the cabdriver said. “I’ve got chains on, but this is nuts. I haven’t seen a storm this bad in years.”

      Colin wondered if Emily was going to be okay. She was up in the attic, after all, and as luxurious as the small apartment suite was, it was awfully close to the roof, which was probably piled up with tons of snow.

      He suddenly had a horrible vision of the roof caving in and fought the absolutely irrational desire to have the cab turn around and return him to the inn.

      Even if the roof’s not strong enough, what were you planning on doing to stop it? Hold the thing up with your arms?

      He wasn’t sure what he would do. He just knew that he hated the idea of Emily in any kind of trouble. And, if he were being completely honest with himself, some part of him was searching desperately for an excuse to get back to the inn. To her.

      He knew that it was stupid, but there it was.

      Chalk it up to lack of sleep.

      “So what kind of business are you in?” the cabdriver asked.

      “I’m an architect,” Colin said.

      “Houses and stuff?”

      “Not exactly. My next project is a hotel on the Left Bank, about a stone’s throw from the Eiffel Tower.”

      “Must be nice,” the cabdriver said with a low, appreciative whistle. “So, what, they aren’t building any hotels on this side of the ocean?”

      “Now you sound like my mother,” Colin said, and the cabdriver snorted.

      “Well, to each his own,” he said affably. “You like what you do?”

      “Love it,” Colin told him, feeling better. “Love the challenges, the new places, the clients. All of it.”

      “Now you’re sounding better,” the cabbie pointed out. “That hangover wearing off?”

      Colin smiled tightly. “Seems like it.”

      “I hate hangovers,” the cabdriver continued. “Still, every now and then you’ve got to indulge, you know?”

      Colin thought about it. Indulgence. That seemed like an inadequate word to cover what had taken place last night. But still, wasn’t that basically how Emily was looking at it?

      Ten bucks says she isn’t mooning about you this morning, pal. She’s probably sleeping it off, or getting back to work. The way she’d talked about it, it was the experience she wanted, and the fact that it was with him was incidental. As though he was a stamp in her passport or something.

      He didn’t believe it at the time, but now, after seeing her in action—honestly, he wasn’t sure what to believe anymore.

      “So your wife and family going with you or what?”

      “What’s with the twenty questions?” Colin snapped.

      The cabdriver paused. “Sorry, man. Didn’t mean to bug you. Some people like to talk, you know?”

      Colin sighed. “I’m sorry, too,” he said. “I guess that hangover’s stronger than I thought. I didn’t mean to bite your head off.” He paused. “And no. No wife, no kids.”

      “Huh. Not surprised, actually. You don’t really seem like a family man.”

      Colin sat up straighter, as if someone had smacked him on the back of the head. “Why do you say that?”

      “Sharp dresser, goin’ off to Paris the day after Christmas, hungover.” The cabdriver barked out a laugh. “But, hey, I’ve seen weirder from married guys, so I wasn’t absolutely sure. I remember driving this guy to two of his mistresses’ apartments on Thanksgiving, if you can believe it….”

      Colin settled back against the cold vinyl seat of the taxi, feeling disgruntled. It all circled back to his family’s comments. He wasn’t the small-town type. He knew that, had known it since before high school. He’d be the first to say so in most cases. So why should the observation bother him now? Why was he getting so ticked off every time someone pointed out that he wasn’t small-town and family-oriented?